


Walked In

by Dirty_Corza



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Minor Violence, Post Reichenbach, letswritesherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-06
Updated: 2013-06-06
Packaged: 2017-12-14 02:35:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/831737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dirty_Corza/pseuds/Dirty_Corza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a particularly dangerous case, things between Sherlock and John come to a head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Walked In

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Let's Write Sherlock
> 
> Challenge 1: After a nearly disastrous case, Sherlock and John share a tense taxi ride back to Baker Street. With emotions running high, they finally arrive back at 221B, and then…

Sherlock hadn't expected the fist to come flying so soon. He knew the case had been trying, he knew John was more than a little upset with him. The cab ride had been filled with a tense silence, and John had refused to even look at him.

He had expected for John to make himself some tea, or perhaps storm up to his room as soon as they came home.

But it was a fist that came as soon as the door was shut. A firm hit to his upper arm, one he winced as it landed, knowing it would leave a bruise.

“Don't do that, Sherlock. Never. Again.”

Sherlock's eyes widened at the tone of John's voice, shocked to find himself hearing the most terrifying threat known to man, with the subtle tones of sorrow interwoven throughout. “What?” He knew it wouldn't help anything, asking that, but he couldn't stop himself. The word had come unbidden, and had refused to back down.

“You ran off without me. You confronted an ARMED MAN with nothing but your fists. And if I hadn't had the sense of mind to be following you, you'd be dead right now. When you went around the corner and I heard gunshots that couldn't have come from you? All I could see was the image of you lying on the pavement in a pool of blood again. You're lucky I was able to hold myself together for long enough to take him out!

“This isn't just about you taking risks. I didn't like that before, but I could deal with it then. You see, Sherlock, you coming back is- It's a miracle, a dream come true. But a beautiful dream doesn't erase the nightmares. It's Baskerville all over, only there doesn't need to be drugs or a fog to make me see things. I've seen enough to supply the images on my own, and yeah, I made it through this time, but what happens next time? If I'm there a second too late, and they've knocked you out and I assume the worst? I've killed men for you, Sherlock, but you've never seen me take one down with my bare hands.

“I don't want to know what it's like to beat a man to death with my fists, Sherlock. But each case like this, each time I get that fear in my gut that something happened, that you're dead for real, I feel it coming closer, an inevitability. 

“Don't make me become that monster, Sherlock.”

Sherlock stood in shocked silence, staring into John's eyes, shocked at the lack of emotion he saw there. “Oh,” he murmured, swaying on his feet. It was as if a flood of old, disused information had invaded his mind, concentrated on how much it hurt to know he was the one who caused that expression on John's face. He could see the stark difference in the John he remembered from before Moriarty and this John here now. True, they were still as close as ever, maybe even closer, but some things had changed. He hadn't realized until now just how much they had. 

“I'm sorry.” his voice was a whisper, barely there, but he knew John heard. How could he not when he was the only reason Sherlock was still standing? It was John's hands on his elbows, gripping just enough he didn't fall that kept Sherlock up.

Blinking, he noticed a small smile on John's face, and tears in his eyes. The sight of them brought his attention to the damp streaks on his own face. He was crying, and he hadn't even noticed. His knees buckled at the revelation, and with a thump both he and John were kneeling on the floor of their flat, silent tears going unmentioned as they sat together. Sherlock let John bring them closer, until they sat with foreheads pressed against each others. 

This silence was different from the silence of the cab ride, diffused by the emotions put to words, and the peace that came with understanding.


End file.
